


Release

by Apricot



Category: The Giver Series - Lois Lowry
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dystopia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricot/pseuds/Apricot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few days after Jonas leaves, the community tries to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSecondBatgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecondBatgirl/gifts).



> Thank you so much for my beta, Gileonnen. And all the hippos and mods that made it possible!
> 
> Written for TheSecondBatgirl

 

 

Asher was intrigued.

No, not intrigued-- a flash of that same feeling deepened when his brow furrowed. He hadn't said the word aloud, but he still had that pang of shame for misspeaking once more. 

No, _intrigued_ meant he was curious, curious to know where Jonas was. Which- Asher pressed his tongue to his teeth, a childish gesture for when he wanted to say something aloud but knew he shouldn't... he was. In a way. 

That was why Asher did not like words. Words were slippery, difficult, and made him stumble over his tongue when he tried to accurately express what he wanted. He was intrigued, but that was not what he meant right now.

Irritated. 

He was _irritated_. His friend was not sitting with him during the Ceremony, even though this was the first time that they did not have to sit with their age groups. Age groups no longer mattered after Twelve. He supposed that he was sitting with his family unit and his sister Lily, who was going to be a Nine this year, was already with her class. Asher's parents were a little way off, holding a slightly fussy Philippa.

Philippa would be a Three this year, and she had already located where Asher sat. He momentarily forgot Jonas and gave her a smile.

The Ceremony was loud- no, long- as always, but Asher waited patiently through it, fidgeting only slightly as he craned his head, looking for his friend in the crowd. He didn't see him, though. 

Jonas had been acting ... different, since the last year when they'd received their Assignments. Asher had been almost in awe of it himself, knowing that he was friends with the Receiver-in-Training. 

Would Jonas look like the Receiver when he was old? He mused. The Receiver was absent from the Ceremony, but that wasn't unusual. He thought often that the Receiver looked much older than some of those he'd met the House of the Old. He thought about this through the most boring parts of the Ceremony, amusing himself silently as he pictured Jonas with strange, deep furrows on his face. He was glad when the signal came for the end of the Ceremony and filed out with the rest of the people.

He finally spotted Fiona in the crowd and headed over, still looking for Jonas.

"Fiona!" he began, but trailed off when he realized who was behind her.

The Chief Elder was standing there, her hand not quite on Fiona's shoulder- that would have been rude- but she was close enough that she could not lose them in a crowd. It took him a moment to realize the other Elders were standing nearby too. 

"Excuse me," the Chief Elder said, her voice clear although Asher could see she looked almost ... he wasn't sure of the right word.

"I apologize to you, Asher," she said. "I did not wish to alarm you, and the Elders and I all agreed that we would not disrupt the Ceremony until we were sure we must, but I must ask your help." 

"I accept-" he began, but the Chief Elder cut him off, which made him close his mouth in surprise. 

"Have you seen the Receiver-in-Training, Asher? Jonas?"

He turned around, glancing from side to side as if that would make him appear. 

"No, Chief Elder," he said, with a slight stir of dismay. Jonas was truly missing? "Isn't he with the Receiver?"

"We had hoped so," she said, her manner calm, but her eyes moved quickly to the side, as Asher's had done. "But it seems that there has also been a theft. A grievous one."

Alarm filled him up. 

"It seems Jonas took his father's bicycle," she said. "And now the newchild that was staying with his family cannot be found either."

"Jonas wouldn't take that!" Asher said immediately. He remembered his friend's shame at the small incident with the apple, so many years before. It had been one of the only times Asher had gotten to comfort Jonas for a small break in the rules. "He doesn't take things."

"I need to ask you and Fiona to tell me any place Jonas might go," the Chief Elder said carefully, staring at him. It made Asher slightly uncomfortable. "If you hear from him at all. Please."

"Okay," he said, and the Chief Elder nodded in thanks. Asher moved his eyes to Fiona's.

She looked as uncomfortable as he did.

"Jonas wouldn't just ... leave," he told her, as soon as the Elders had gone away. "Where would he go?"

Fiona shook her head, her brow furrowing a little. "Elsewhere?"

"You have to be released," he said, and frowned at the thought of his friend. 

They would find him. They had to.

* * *

Fiona's dreams were strange that night. 

Normally, she very much enjoyed her dreams. Everything seemed to make sense, at least while she was asleep. When she woke and told her parents of how she was working in the House of the Old, except she had been wearing a boy's tunic, they smiled, and seemed amused too. 

This dream was not like that.

There had been a group people. A crowd. She had been confused about that, since they were not people she recognized. They were her age, but none were from the fellow trainees at the House of the Old. 

They had been laughing and she'd reached up to touch her nose, except it was not her nose. It was someone else's, a boy's. And for some reason it had hurt and her hand- his hand- had come away wet. She'd been surprised when she noticed the blood.

And it had been ... been different.

She'd stared at it almost fascinated before there was a blow to her side, a blow she hadn't known to look out for. And then there was pain, wet, hacking pain as the beating over and over and over again ...

Fiona had woken up in a sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead and her body trembling from the ordeal. She could still feel pain, even after the dream had faded and she reached a hand up to gently touch her nose and make sure it wasn't bleeding. And worst still, she could remember her dream. It had been a punishment. A punishment for being ... different. 

And the blood ... what had been wrong with her blood?

She was so disoriented from the dream and remembering the strange things she felt that she didn't notice it until she got to the breakfast table. And stared, stunned. 

"Mother-" she said, stammering for the first time in a long time. 

Her mother's hair, usually combed so neatly, was out of its normal style. It looked tousled beyond recognition, and she could see that her eyes had dark circles beneath them. She was sitting listlessly at the table, staring off at the window, and Fiona glanced around for her father, but he wasn't sitting there. Her little brother, a Two, was sitting in his chair, but her mother did not pay him any attention. 

"Where's Father?"

This time, her mother jumped and glanced at her- and gave a little gasp, shutting her eyes quickly. Fiona wanted to cover her eyes, too. Her mother's hair had changed. It was no longer dark, but a strange shade, one she had never seen before ... except in her dream. She tore her gaze away, staring at Bruno. His eyes were the same shade as their mother's hair. 

"What- Mother, I think I need to see the doctors," she managed.

Her mother said nothing. 

"Mother?"

To ignore another person was rude. Her mother had never ignored her. And where was her father?

She felt a flicker of something she had felt last night. In the dream. It was foreign, alien, and thinking of it only made it increase, until she had to move forward. It prompted her to touch her mother, touch her shoulder, gripping tight without realizing. 

"Mother." 

Her mother's lips were moving, muttering something over and over and she finally realized how hard she was holding her.

"I apologize," she managed, before she finally glanced at Bruno one more time and then at the window. 

People were outside. Her brow furrowed. 

As she took a step toward the door she suddenly remembered. (But it wasn't like remembering.) It was something she always seemed to have known, but then she couldn't have. It wasn't hers.

There was a beach- and what a beach was Fiona wasn't sure, but that was the right word. Water was crashing against it, crashing; she wasn't sure if she'd ever heard such a loud sound. There were strange creatures flying above her head, like planes, but they weren't planes. They were birds. She knew that as surely as she knew beach. Fiona stopped an inch from the door, staring, but even as the memory faded she could feel it in her head. 

She stepped outside.

Some people were staring, staring at nothing like her mother was. She squinted at the sudden light. Had the sun ever been so bright? 

The people that were not staring looked ... fearful, frightened, large and imprecise words she'd learned as a Three but rarely used. 

_Panicked._

The people that lived in the next building were staring at the sky- the sky that had changed overnight. One woman was crying. 

Unbidden she felt, for the first time, water welling up in her eyes and touched them. She was injured; she was sick, only children cried for no reason and then only when they didn't know better. She wasn't in pain, either, and trying to make herself stop only frustrated her more. A boy walked past her line of vision and she started, momentarily jerked out of that feeling as she called for him.

"Asher!"

He looked over and she could see that the expression on his normally-placid face mirrored hers. This made no sense. And she ... she felt.

"Asher," she said desperately, ignoring her neighbors as she raced to her friend. The speakers crackled and she fell silent, turning toward them. The voice over the speakers was always calm, even in the most uncertain times. But this time it took a moment for the message to ring out, and the tone was ... off.

PLEASE, the voice said. RETURN TO YOUR HOMES- DO NOT LEAVE DURING THIS-

It trailed off and she stared at it. She wasn't the only one. Asher beside her looked pale and for the first time she noticed that the sun had blotched his face in a strange way, casting different shadows there.

Freckles, something in her said, and she shuddered at the memory that wasn't hers. They were called freckles. 

"Asher," she said, starting to go on, but the speaker crackled again.

DISREGARD ALL OTHER ORDERS, the voice said, this time sounding frightened. She now knew what frightened sounded like. PLEASE GO TO THE MEETING HALL AT ONCE, AS ORDERLY AS POSSIBLE.

She exhaled slowly; glad something was to be done. They would fix this. The Elders would know what to do.

She felt something brush her hair and jumped, startled, when she realized it was Asher. No one had ever done that before.

"What are you doing?"

Asher was staring at her hair. 

It made her feel uncomfortable. 

"We have to go," she insisted, before she headed out in front of him. He followed her.

People were filing into the large room now; the stage that usually held the Elders was empty. During the Ceremony often the room would echo with idle chatter as everyone found their seats, but now it was silent. 

* * *

Asher was currently experiencing something he now knew to be dread. 

The dreams had come last night, but now it was like he was walking through his dreams. Different memories that shouldn't linger in his mind were there now, remaining. Anything could trigger them and it was nearly chaotic. 

He saw the podium and remembered a speech, a speech made by someone who was then thrown to the ground, dead, as people screamed and cried out and the roar was terrible. 

He looked at the chair and thought of something softer, warmer, as he sat by a fire- a fire in the house- his bones hurting but soothed by the heat.

He looked at Fiona's hair and thought of the shade of the sky in the morning, before a storm. He didn't know what a storm was. 

"Please," said the Chief Elder. The muffled cries and whimpers of some of the community dwindled only slightly. 

"Please," she said again, her voice not as commanding as before. Asher stared at her, squirming in his seat.

"What's happened?" someone called, sounding panicked. The hush of the others was only brief. It was rude to do that, Asher thought. Against the rules. But the stunned silence was followed by a similar cry, and then another, until pandemonium filled the hall. 

"Please!" the Chief Elder tried, raising her voice this time as her hands trembled. "We must listen to instruction. The Receiver-in-Training has ... left the community." 

Asher gasped, a sound that was echoed throughout the room. _Jonas?_

A woman was crying somewhere in the audience and he couldn't turn to look at her. He glanced at Fiona, once more struck by the shock of her hair. She didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the Chief Elder.

"The Receiver is here," the Chief Elder said, her voice wavering. "To instruct us. We are searching for the Receiver-In-Training now, but ..."

She trailed off and her hands fell to her sides as she seemed to shrink, heading back to her chair before she sat down slowly. Asher's eyes flicked to the new movement, the Receiver coming forward. He seemed even older now. Asher remembered those he had worked with in the House of the Old. The ones Fiona cared for. And now there was a memory of the Old, one he hadn't had before. 

"I know what you are feeling," the Receiver said, and although his voice was soft it carried far better than the Chief Elder's. "I know what it is like. Your mind is betraying you, your eyes ..."

Someone wailed and he waited patiently for it to lapse into sobs before he continued.

"My apprentice is lost to us now," he said quietly. "Jonas is gone."

"Jonas wouldn't go," Asher said to Fiona, but she only glanced at him with fearful eyes. 

"Release!" someone shouted, and a man stumbled into the walkway, pointing an accusing finger at the Receiver. His face was red, a color. The color of Fiona's hair. 

"He must be released!" 

The pronouncement rippled through the crowd like a wave and Asher stared at them, then at the tired eyes of the Receiver. 

A woman stood up too, her face twisted into a mask of fear. "He must be! He has failed! He has done this to us!"

The Receiver said nothing.

"No!" another moaned. The sound was raw, animal, and an answering shiver worked its way down Asher's spine.

The Chief Elder was still sitting in her chair, her hands over her face.

"You could," the Receiver said quietly, and out of habit the congregation fell silent. "But it would only make things worse. You must be brave now. You must learn to manage this."

"Take it away!" Someone shouted. 

"I can't," he said. "It is yours now. Forever."

Forever. Asher did not want this forever. Fear flickered in him again. 

"I want Release!" the woman cried then, suddenly. "I want to apply for Release!" 

"No," the Receiver began; shaking his head, but others began to cry out for the same, sobbing and tearing at their clothes and flesh. The whole room began to echo with the screams and Asher's eyes were wide. Suddenly he was being tugged to his feet, his hand caught in someone else's. He could only follow the bright bobbing of Fiona's head as they ran.

* * *

Fiona wasn't sure what made her run. Fear. Memories. She couldn't tell what was which. They made it to the outskirts of the street before she stopped, managing to get to the bushes before retching. Nothing came out; she'd had no breakfast. 

Hopeless, she began to cry.

Asher's lip trembled too as he gaze back at the building, the carried shouts. 

"I can't," she said, shaking. Tears were on her face but she couldn't stop them now. "I can't."

"Can we do that?" Asher managed, staring back. "Could you reply- apply- for Release?" 

Release was gentle. Release was ... she had attended the Release of an elderly man named Jacob just a week ago. They had told the story of his life and then led him to the room. She had helped him sit down, and he had been so excited to share a few details there hadn't been time to hear before. She had handed the special needle to the attendant herself. 

And then ...

She nearly dove back into the bushes, covering her mouth. 

"Don't apply for it," she said, her face twisting. "They don't go to Elsewhere. We ... we ..."

She could remember the serene look on his face, the tiny flex of muscles as the needle went in. She remembered the way his face went slack; how his legs had kicked, maybe twice more, and then lay still.

We are preparing him for Elsewhere, the attendant had said, and smiled at her. But they wheeled his chair out without him in it. She'd thanked him for his instruction.

"It's dying," she said, and the word seemed to stick in her throat. She remembered what dying was now. She remembered her dream, the pain.

Asher stared at her. "Dying?"

"I have a word for it, now," Fiona said quietly. 

 


End file.
